


Oath’s Broken, Oath’s Kept

by Swarleypants



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Jons been isolated for a while, Possessive Jon Snow, Queen Sansa, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wildling Jon Snow, he’s acting like a wolf, this is basically what I would want in a sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19006609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swarleypants/pseuds/Swarleypants
Summary: It’s been two years since Sansa Stark was coronated as Queen in the North. Siblings Bran and Sansa Stark have done well settling the North and South into a fragile state of peace. There are even rumours that their cousin, Jon Snow, has led the Free Folk wisely.The common people are being well fed, their bannermen have been properly rewarded with new titles, castles, and strongholds, and winter is finally starting to subside. With spring on its way, there is an air of hope for the people of Westeros. They have started to heal from the horrors that was the Song of Ice and Fire, but many are still uneasy.There are unanswered questions, unmade laws and agreements, and even a dragon that still looms over them. Since the beginning of her reign, Queen Sansa has ensured the stability of her nation via a biennial royal progress of the North, visiting all castles and strong holds in her lands, but she knows there is still swift action to be done to ensure a generation of long lasting peace.





	1. Chapter 1

_Winterfell._

 

  **Sansa**

“My lords, my ladies, I thank you for being here today. I know you all must be weary from your travels, so I will keep today’s meeting short, and then feel free to take leave or settle in. I hope with this meeting we can help continue the prosperity achieved since the end of the Last War. I ask you here, to address the outstanding concerns that can no longer be postponed. I know all of you are uneasy about what’s to come, but Spring is near, and as long as we are united, I see no reason that we cannot thrive.”

A boisterous sound of agreement echos through the great hall. Sansa smiles slightly and folds her hands together atop the grand table.

“Let’s begin.”

Lady Meera of house Reed stands.

“Lady Reed, speak freely.”

“With all the men we’ve lost, your grace, we can’t afford to send any more away. Even if they have broken the law.” Sansa inwardly sighs. She means the Night’s Watch.

Lady Meera is now the governing seat of the Dreadfort, and with most of House Bolton’s banner men dying on the field of battle, the fortress is severely lacking in abled bodied men.

“We’ve made do,” Meera continues, “But with the scale of the Dreadfort, we can’t afford to lose any more men.”

Sansa feels a twinge of guilt. She and Bran have discussed many ideas of how Westeros could prosper under both of their rules. The first being which noble houses should replace the ones that have gone extinct. Meera Reed was one of the more obvious choices. With Brans overwhelming support in her ladyship, Sansa couldn’t think of a better placement for her than the fortress who’s history holds the most bad blood with the Starks. However, she did not take into account the difficulties she would face, especially without her fathers support. Sansa has never seen the Greywater Watch, but she can imagine the growing pains Lady Reed has gone through transitioning to a fortress such as the Dreadfort.

“Do you have a proposition, my lady?”

Meera gives her a hesitant look, not entirely sure of herself in front of the Queen at present.

“Yes, your grace. With your permission, we wish to give trial and judgement, on our own terms, to the lawbreakers in our own jurisdiction. We know our people best, we can best decide how their fate will benefit our people.”

Sansa glints her eyes at Meera. A fair request.

“I grant your request, Lady Reed, however if a member of a noble house must have a trial, depending on the severity, we will hold the trial at Winterfell.”

“As you wish, your grace, thank you.”

“I also expect to be informed of any events that could be deemed extreme, such as murder or mutiny, we will discuss the proper protocol as the situations arise.”

There is a murmur of agreement.

As soon as Meera sits down another figure rises up. Beth Cassel. Sansa recognizes the face of Ser Rodrick’s daughter. Sansa thinks she could remember a time where Beth visited Winterfell. She imagines her young face and immediately shoves the thought from her mind. Memories of the past will do you no good, Sansa thought to herself, unwilling to confront the pain that came with her nostalgia.

“What of the men that we have already sent to the Night’s Watch, your grace?” Beths voice rang clearly throughout the hall.

About a year after the Last War had ended both the Queen and King’s courts agreed that the fate of the Night’s Watch should be settled without the input of the South. The South stopped sending their men, food and taxes to the Night’s Watch shortly after the end of The Last War. The men in black haven’t been under the jurisdiction of the Crown since its creation, however they do share a border with the North. The Northerners continued their support due to the lack of trust with the wildlings, but time has proved that no northerner, Free Folk or otherwise, has the stomach for more bloodshed, leaving the Night’s Watch rudderless.

“Conveniently, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and I have been in contact. We have exchanged ideas for the solution of the Night’s Watch. I have yet to visit Castle Black, or East-watch-by-the-sea, but I intend to remedy that at our next convenience. What I can say is this: We cannot forsake the men who have taken their oaths, we will continue to give the remaining men of the Nights Watch what support they are owed, and in return they will assist with the process of brining down the Wall. Once completed they will serve the north. They will live and die at their post, protecting northerners from any who seek to harm our innocents.”

Boisterous sounds of agreement fills the hall once again. Sansa waits until the noises have settled and takes a breath before finishing with:

“And once the Wall is down we will grant the Free Folk with the land of the Gift.”

The cries of anger cannot be misinterpreted. Sansa allows it to continue for a minute before starting once again, with the most regal tone she can muster.

“Your Queen has no jurisdiction over the people of the Free Folk. Just as the South has no jurisdiction over the North. Whether we like it or not, we are the only nation in Westeros with two independent neighbours. We are lucky to share a long and intertwining history with the South, but we have no such luxury with the people of the Free Folk. If we are to ensure peace, we must show a sign of good faith. We are to take down the Wall, then we will give them the land that was unfairly dedicated to their isolation.”

Begrudging grumbles are heard a tad louder than the sounds of agreement. Sansa sighs, well, its better than what I expected.

“The Free Folk fought beside us in the Battle of the Bastards, they fought beside us in the Great War, do not forget that they risked their lives just as much as the northmen did. They have honour, and it is our duty to make peace with our neighbours.” A pause, “The decision is finale.”

Silence.

Lord Cerwyn stands.

“Speak freely, Lord Cerwyn”

He nods, “Your grace, how do you expect to ‘bring the Wall down’ as you put it?”

Sansa hesitates.

“Most of you know a section of the Wall was brought down by the White Walkers, as witnessed by the Free Folk who were manning the castles at the time. If there is a way to bring it down the Free Folk may be able to help us. I have already planned a visit to Castle Black to speak with the Lord Commander, from there we will further discuss plans on how to dismantle the Wall.”

“Can we not just leave it up, your grace?”

The speaker did not stand. The voice seemed to float to the surface among the sea of northmen. Sansa addressed the question anyway.

“The Wall is not just a block of ice, it is a symbol. A symbol of trepidation and isolation that has lasted thousands of years. It once protected us from the creatures who sought out to harm us, but the Wall did not stop the White Walkers, and it didn’t prevent hundreds of wildlings from climbing to its surface. If the Wall can be brought down, then we will bring it down. Spring is near my lords, my ladies, and there are rumours that the land beyond the wall has been growing greener. We have been living on scraps for far too long. Bringing down the Wall might help our stocks prosper tenfold. We have lived through the worst winter Westeros has seen in hundreds of years. Its time we rid our lands of the Permanent Frost.”

Fists are banging on tables, resounding ‘ayes’ can be heard from the mouths of northmen. Sansa stands.

“You all are most welcome to stay as long as you please. On the morrow I will be attending to any of whom wish to hold a private audience, but tonight we feast.” 

With that Sansa smiles, turns on her heel and makes a swift exit.

 

_Somewhere beyond the Wall._

**Jon**

Everything was white. The mountains, the hills, the valleys. It was a frozen wasteland. Even Ghost might have been made of snow, as Jon could scarcely see him. He thought he could make him out, high on a mountain, padding his way up the middle of two peaks. There was a time where he worried about him straying too far, but he was wrong to worry. The wolf was more at home here than he could ever hope to be.

The White Wolf they called him. He supposed that was better than The Bastard of Winterfell, but even still... he couldn’t be sure he was worthy of such a handle. A wolf wasn’t meant to be isolated. A true wolf would be with his pack. The Lone Wolf is the name he deserved but... he supposed it made no difference, Jon had so many names now, one more couldn’t hurt.

Maybe that can be my name, Jon The White Wolf. Or perhaps just Jon Whitewolf. He certainly wasn’t going to respond to Aegon Targaryen. Jon Targaryen. He winced. He didn’t deserve that name.

“Oh, fucking hell!” He slipped.

He struggled to catch himself, trying to prevent more injuries to his person. His knee gave out again. His boots were wearing down and he was growing tired of the journey that seemed just as endless as the snows surrounding him.

Bloody hell. Anger filled his veins. He knew he had only himself to blame for this masochistic adventure, but gods, he couldn’t stand to stay still at camp any longer. He supposed he was similar to Arya in that way, he thought fondly. Somehow knowing that he chose a similar path as his little sister made trekking through a white wasteland for months thrice feel a bit more honourable.

For years he longed for his little sister to come back to him. He longed to see her grumpy little face complain about Septa Mordane, Sansa, and their cruel obsession with embroidery. And she did, come back to him, but she wasn’t his little sister anymore. Nor was he the same older brother. He longed for it, for all of it. For Winterfell. For the innocence that was torn away from them. He wished he had it in him to visit, but he couldn’t justify it. It’s the first time he’s ever felt like a coward.

Jon let out a big sigh.

No sense in dwelling, he thought, I made my choice.

He could see that the break in the horizon was approaching and he picked up his pace. Finally, from atop the valley he climbed, he could see the beginning of a new sea. A sea of white snows, to be sure, but with smatterings of browns, blacks and greens. He’s at the edge of the Haunted Forest, and if that’s where I am then that means...

He imagined he could smell the savoury scent of Hilla’s lamb stew. He could hear the sound of Tall Thorran’s bellied laugh. He could see Tormund’s friendly face, alight with mirth and mischief.

He supposed he was about a day or two’s trek from Hardhome and decided to head for the security of the forest. It would suffice as shelter for the night. He would be able to find enough wood suitable for a fire and, gods be good, hopefully a rabbit or two will turn up. A spot of land be found in the forest was to his liking and he set to work.

The Land of Always Winter didn’t disappoint in name. There was hope, with the warming climate, noted by all the villages of the True North, that the same would be for the entire North. Jon had requested that a map of the North would be sent to Castle Black before setting off on his journey, he figured charting what he found would be invaluable, regardless of how unimpressive his findings were.

Except for... Well, Jon didn’t know what to make of it, he still doesn’t. Jon remembers he felt a strange wave wash over him when he approached the site, it was a large clearing — a frozen meadow — surrounded by hills and valleys and in the centre was a collection of sharp icicles, the size of giants. They were spread out and formed in a circle, they surrounded a wider flatter icicle, it was short enough to reach, about the height of a table. Reverence and foreboding, Jon felt, when he dared to approach. It was a place of old magic. He didn’t belong there, that he was certain of. It was then that he decided to turn back home. Later he realized Ghost never came to close to the phenomenon. You know nothing Jon Snow. Even Ghost knew better than him.

“I am a northern fool” he said absentmindedly, chucking the bits of bone from his salted hare into the fire.

“That you are, good man”

In one swift fluid motion Jon sprung up and turned toward the voice, his hand ever-the-ready on the hilt of his sword.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

“Whoa, no need for that.” He held his hands up, signalling he was friend not foe. “Take a look at me, I’ve taken the black.”

Indeed he did. The man was covered in black, from his worn boots to the ragged fur on his cloak. Jon relaxed slightly, but did not take his hand off of his hilt.

“You’ve taken your vows then?” He was testing him. In a different time, he would have been inclined to believe him, but since part of the wall was brought down... Gods know why anyone would want to come this far north of their own volition, but either way it wouldn’t be the first time someone had intended to murder him under the guise of taking the black.

“Aye,” and he proceed to say his vows. “Satisfied?”

“What are you doing out here? Are you alone?”

“Not exactly, my party is not far from here, we found an abandoned village not far from Craster’s. I was just gathering some wood.”

“You don’t have any wood.”

“Aye, nothing gets past you innit? If you hadn’t noticed, snow makes things wet, it’s taken me some time.”

Jon was getting annoyed. “Well, then. Far be it from be to hold you up any longer. Be on your way ser.” He visibly relaxed his position, signalling the truth in his words. He would have sat down and tended to his fire but then—

“You’re a lord aren’t ya? What’s a lord doing all the way out here?”

Jon sighed.

“You’re mistaken, I am of the Free Folk.”

The brother of the Night’s Watch accepted that but his curiosity was not satiated, he scrutinized further. He stared at him closely, but just then Ghost came out of the shadows, silent but hostile, his red eyes glaring at the stranger. The man’s face light up.

“Gods be good... you’re Jon Snow.”

Aggravated sigh. My repute proceeds me. “Aye, what of it?”

“We’ve been looking for you. Everyone’s been looking for you.” Jon looks at him closely now. The expression on his face can’t be anything but astonishment. “We all thought you were dead!”

“Seven hells— I’ve only been gone for a few moons turn now. Tormund knows well enough how long the journey might’ve taken. Hardly cause for a search party.” This is just embarrassing now, maybe this is his idea of a prank.

“A few moons tur— Lord Snow... _You’ve been missing nearly over a year_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Sansa**

 

Sansa’s horse nickered when she dismounted. Whitefoot was given to her as a gift from the Northern lords. She was touched that they would think to bestow her such a even tempered mare. _She is just as kind as your grace_ , they said.

 

She gave her a affectionate pat, looking her over, her face turning forlorn. Her colouring reminded her of Lady.

 

“Shall I brush her down, your grace?”

 

She turned and saw a young boy, soft jawed with brown hair, and all dressed in black. She gave him a nod and he led Whitefoot away. She faced the fortress now. She looked up and saw a looming figure. She imagined she saw Jon for a moment, foolishly hoping to find him where he stood once, but he wasn’t there of course.

 

 _No_ , Sansa thought, _a man who betrayed him stands there now._ As soon as they locked eyes she started forward.

“I see you’ve done well for yourself since leaving for the Wall, Lord Commander” Her smile was the picture of a lady’s courtesy.

 

“You make it sound like I had a choice in the matter, your grace.” Galbart Glover tried to hide his bitterness, but failed.

 

She kept her smile, despite him. _Prideful man._

 

“Come, Lord Commander, we have much to discuss.” She gestures to him, he accepts, and they make their way inside Castle Black.

 

Sansa remembers the castle halls well. She lived there for a few weeks time once, not too long ago. She remembered how warm and safe she felt while staying there. It was not home, but the first time she arrived there was the first time she felt truly happy in years. Looking around the halls she hoped that feeling might come back... alas, she still felt hollow. Then Glover snapped her out of her reprieve.

 

“Your grace, my nephew... how is he fairing?”

 

Sansa looked at him then, not bothering to hide that she getting the measure of him. She detected that his inquiry was an honest one. Sansa sighed, for all that Lord Glover has done, it could not be argued that he loved his family. She couldn’t help but think of Cersei then. _So many mistakes made for the sake of family._

 

“He is well, my lord. Gawen is a bright boy. I have no doubt he will give great honour to his house one day.” And it’s true. He was honest and kind. He was also stubborn and boyish at times, but he had great potential. He reminded her of Theon. _So many ghosts._  She was determined to do right by the Glover boy. She wouldn’t hold the sins of his uncle against him. She would groom him and treat her ward like family, just as father intended. One day, maybe, he would make a good match for a daughter of hers. If she had daughters. The thought should make her happy, but she only felt cold.

 

Sansa bids the Lord Commander to sit with her. She informs him of what was discussed in the meeting that was held at Winterfell. Then she asks him a favour.

 

_“You want us to what?”_

 

“Open the gate Lord Glover, I will not ask again.”

 

He breathes heavily, staring at her cold unyielding eyes.

 

“It is not safe, your grace.” He says, but for some reason she doesn’t think concern for her safety was the reason behind his balk. “We can send word to the wildlings, we’ll ask them to convene here.”

 

“I have fifty mounted sworn knights in my party, Lord Glover. It is not I who will be unsafe.” Her tone is absolute and her gaze is steady. She thinks that Glover might see why some call her the Ice Queen.

 

He tries to hold her gaze, but he relents, and calls for his steward to prepare the gates to be opened. He gestures for Sansa to make her way outside with him, but before they exit she stops him. She told herself she wouldn’t ask, promised herself and yet...

 

“Have you heard anything?”

 

He glances at her, squints, looks away and then shakes his head. “No.”

 

Sansa nods.

 

A wall of white hits her as she exits. It’s snowing terribly, gusts of snow are blowing so hard it’s difficult to see two feet in front of her. She makes it down the steps and her most trusted knight, Ser Callad, approaches. He has her horse saddled and ready for her. She thanks him, mounts Whitefoot and clutches her furs closer to her neck. It feels colder somehow, high up on horseback.

 

Before she grabs her reigns and makes for the gate Lord Glover calls out to her once more.

 

“It’s not too late, your grace, you can turn back still.”

 

She might have frozen him on the spot if looks had power. She answered him without hesitation.

 

“We all have choices, Lord Commander, and when we make them we must live with their consequences.” Sansa see’s his face fall, and she looks away. After a pause she looks back, not unkindly.

 

“I do not wish to dwell on the past, my lord. I bid you good fortune.” 

 

**Jon**

 

The man from the Night’s Watch tried to convince Jon to come back with him. Jon pretended to relent, but he wasn’t about to follow his orders. He wasn’t about to be outnumbered. He slipped away as soon as his back was turned. He knew this forest better than most. _Better than them anyway._ If he didn’t want to be found he wouldn’t be.

 

Jon didn’t know what to make of him, the man dressed in black. Nostalgia compelled him to take his words as truth but... he couldn’t ignore the pain he felt the last time he blindly trusted them. His sworn brothers betrayed him once before.

 

_It doesn’t matter. As soon as I get to Hardhome everything will be as it was. The Night’s Watch wouldn’t dare try anything there. Then I’ll speak to Tormund. He’ll know the truth._

 

He thinks he’s lost them by the time dawn breaks and he gets his bearings once more. He’s taken this route enough times to know where he is. Even so, he decides to make his way up the high hill to see if he can catch a glimpse of... well, anything really. After being surrounded by the unknown for so long he’s ready for familiarity. After being isolated for so long he’s desperate to find a friendly face. But he wasn’t prepared for the face he saw when the horizon broke.

 

Red. All he saw was red. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He was frozen solid, rooted in place. She was taking the main route, she was close, so close, but far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to hear him if he called out to her. She was so small from where he stood. Longing filled him, then immediately followed by dread. _What is she doing here?!_

 

He saw a man in armour speak to her, in fact there were many men in armour surrounding her. An overwhelming instinct overcame him then. It told him to fight. He was beyond anger, he was beyond reason. _What in seven hells is she thinking being here?!_ He started to breathe heavily. He needed to find a shortcut. He’s determined to send them away before they can claim guest rights. But just before he picks up his pace he feels a sharp pain on the back of his skull and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a short one! But I wanted to get this out :)


	3. Chapter 3

 

 **Sansa**

 

It was almost a comfort, strangely enough, to see the Haunted Forest. The tree’s might’ve been hugging her as she and the rest of her party trotted forward as she felt like she was being embraced.She was glad for it, there was too much open field during the trek from Winterfell to Castle Black. It made her feel vulnerable, though she could not say why.

 

“I beg your pardon, your grace, but are you sure this wise? The wildlings they—.”

 

“Free Folk, Ser Callad. They are called the Free Folk.”

 

“Aye, your grace, as you say. I only think of your safety. The Free Folk are known to be a... base people.”

 

She tilted her head at him. It wasn’t like him to easily believe the word of what ‘most people’ have heard.

 

“As you well know, I have sent word to Tormund Giantsbane. I trust him.” She looked at him meaningfully. “He will receive us and we will be in his care. They pray to the old gods just as we do, Ser Callad.” 

 

“I hope you are correct, your grace.” His tone was brusque. _Ser Callad could be such a stern man._ But, she knew it came from a place of concern. He’s worried for her safety, as he should be. The Free Folk have been said to be... abrasive, but she could say the same for half of all the northerners she’s known. _There will always be danger_ , she thought, _we can’t protect the north if we hide from potential allies._

 

“Do you have faith in your queen, Ser?”

 

He looked at her right then and kept his gaze on her eyes steady when he said, “Yes, your grace.”

 

She nodded then, no doubt, he was a loyal servant to the northern crown. She would have left it at that but mischief came to mind.

 

“Then quit your fretting. I fear you’re starting to sound like my Old Nan.”

 

Sansa doesn’t think she’s ever seen his face screw up like that.

 

 

 

 

**Jon**

 

To say that Jon was _most_ displeased to find himself tied to a chair, in an old shack —  _Craster’s Keep?_ —, and staring into the face of Lord Glover, when he awakened, was an understatement.

 

The pain set in then, he felt it in his arms and legs as well as his neck. He tried to distract himself by focusing on his surroundings, blinking away the pain.He could hear distant conversations outside, he could see four, no five men, inside, spread out, all facing Lord Glover in one way or another. He struggles to gain his bearings, trying to centre himself before they notice he’s awake, already formulating a plan of escape.

 

But the gods were not done punishing him it seems. 

 

“ _Snow_.” He almost believed Glover was happy to see him.

 

“Gods be good, you really can’t be killed can ya?”

 

Jon tensed and stayed silent.

 

“Oh relax boy, you don’t need to fear me... much. Hah.”

 

“Easy to say when your not the one bound to a chair.”

 

“You ran away from my men.”

 

“Aye. It’s my right to.”

 

“Some would say that’s not true. Some would say you were to be sworn to the Night’s Watch. Some call you a Queenslayer.”

 

“I did my duty. I died for my duty.” _I’ve killed for my duty._

 

“Do you want to die for it again?”

 

Jon almost laughed at the irony.

 

“I’m not afraid of death, Lord Glover. I’m not afraid of you.” He sounded smug even to his own ears. “If I am to die I welcome it gladly, but I will not die. Something or someone wills me not to. No matter you or what I want.” He finishes bitterly. He thinks of the Red Woman then, it pained him to realize he was beginning to sound like her.

 

Glover grumbled, his temper beginning to flare. It wasn’t a secret he didn’t like to be challenged.

 

“Even if that were true, we can’t just hand you over to the _Wildlings_.”

 

“Oh, but you’d have no issue with handing over _your_ Queen do you?” Jon had half a mind to spit at his feet, but curiously, Glovers face spelled fear at the accusation.

 

“Aye, I don’t suspect my cousin would be too happy about this either, but I suppose you’ll find out won’t you?”

 

Glover was stewing steadily in his boots, glaring but unable to speak.

 

“Do you know what you did wrong, my lord? Do you know why you’re here? The Bolton’s, the Frey’s, the Umbers, the Karstarks, even the bleedin’ Lannister’s, do you know why they’re all gone?” He paused. “They lost faith. _You lost your faith_.”

 

“Oh? You speak of faith, eh? Says the king who turned his back on the north, his _beloved_ home, for the Mad Dragon Queen? You expect me to put my faith in you?”

 

“No. Not me.” He said ashamedly.

 

Breathing heavily from his last exclamation, Glover turns away.

 

“But, I expect you to have faith in her.”

 

Glover looks back and Jon continues.

 

“She’s out there, in their lands, with no one to protect her. No one who _knows_ them.”

 

He let’s that sink in.

 

“Let me go to her. Let me protect her.”

 

Glover looks to his men, their faces are impassive, not uncommon for most northerners, but they shift uncomfortably. _They know I’m right._

 

“I would never let any harm come to her, you must know that at least. I’ll bring her back to Castle Black and you can deal with me then. Just please, _let me find her.”_

 

Glover sighs. Defeated.

 

“Have it your way, Jon Snow.”

 

Swiftly, he exits.


End file.
